


Watched You Leave

by Anaamikaa



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Companion Piece, Counseling, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anaamikaa/pseuds/Anaamikaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a companion piece to Alive Back From The Dead. I think it could be read as a standalone though. This was originally just the first six dialogues. But then I kept writing and a thousand something words later, this is what I got. Let me know what you think. I wished to add some background to BBC's John, to shape the character in my own way. This is what I believe made John and Harry into the people they are.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Watched You Leave

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to Alive Back From The Dead. I think it could be read as a standalone though. This was originally just the first six dialogues. But then I kept writing and a thousand something words later, this is what I got. Let me know what you think. I wished to add some background to BBC's John, to shape the character in my own way. This is what I believe made John and Harry into the people they are.

* * *

 

     In one of their private sessions, Joan thinks that what she is hearing is equal to scolding. As if she is a student that needs a lesson.

     "Out of the two of you, who do you think is the most emotionally intelligent?"

     At meeting silence, Thompson continues, "You, Joan Watson. You are the only one who can hold all of this together. As you said to me once, he is not someone who does relationships."

     "We're _not_ —"

     "Friendship, Joan. I am saying how he still doesn't quite believe that he has made a friend let alone know how to keep her. He values you but doesn't know how to express it. His self-esteem makes him proud enough to not voice compliments whereas his self-worth doesn't quite understand what you see in him."

     "You're telling me things I already know," Joan tries to cover up her shock at the self-worth bit.

      _But it's Sherl—_

     "I am reminding you that you are the wiser one. Don't let him go because he doesn't know how to do this."

     Joan swallows, chagrined, averting her eyes.

     "You don't know him. He knows how to be cruel," she mutters, trying to contain the guilt that is churning inside her.

     "And have you ever thought of why?"

     Joan's nostrils flare. "What are you trying to say?"

     "You have realized, just as I have, too, that his words have developed as a form of pure self-defense."

     "So—what?" Joan leans forward in her seat. "I am not supposed to react to his gibes? They shouldn't affect me the way they do? The way he  _knows_ they do." She slumps back in her seat, pressing her lips together. His words are always customized with frightening precision and they always hit her hard, just the way he means them to. The thought makes her hurt more than the words themselves, that he doesn't mind doing it. "Is that what you are saying?" She asks, her expression grim.

     "No, Joan. I am asking you to understand the reason behind it. He attacks when he feels attacked. That is probably how he has lived his entire life up until he met you."

     What she loathes is how she takes the blows, letting him gauge the extent of her pain via her expression and body language before even attempting at schooling her features. And once the hurt has left its mark, anger coils up, raw and red. And that is when she has to distance herself from him.

     "Perhaps he feels more insecure around you since he is uncertain of your behaviour."

     Joan lets Thompson's words sink in. She had never thought of it that way. "Is—could that be why he does it so often?" She huffs, lips twisting at the numerous memories.

     "People often try to avoid what scares them. And what scares us all is the unknown. From what I've read and realized about Sherlock, he seems to like  _knowing_ a lot."

     "That he does," Joan concurs with a frail smile.

     "So he turns to his usual methods to try and predict your actions."

     "He tries to make me conform to the pattern," Joan gasps softly, realization hitting her like one of Sherlock's mid-case epiphanies.

     Thompson nods encouragingly. "From what you've told me about him, he is familiar enough with negative emotions such as anger. But other positive ones such as kindness and empathy—especially when directed towards him—baffle him."

     "Yes," Joan nods shakily. "I just always thought..."

     Thompson raises her eyebrows expectantly.

     She sighs and sags back against her chair. "I don't know what I thought," she groans, rubbing her palms over her face.

     "As for your earlier doubts, the fact that he was shocked about the extent and intensity of your grief when he fell should be enough proof of just how much he _thinks_ he means to you."

     Joan raises her head from her hands to look at her in surprise.

     "You know," Joan begins, shaking her head in awe. "I can't believe how Mycroft let you know about _everything_  that happened. Just how much are you aware of?"

     "Let's just say that I fear for my life every once in a while," Thompson grins.

     A startled chuckle escapes Joan's lips and they laugh together, marvelling at the case of Joan and Sherlock.

     But Thompson sobers up.

     "Tell me, Joan. Why do you run?"

     She huffs mirthlessly and shakes her head. "I think you would, too, if you had to deal with him during one of his strops."

     Thompson only regards her with a steady look.

     Joan swallows. "I don't want to hurt him."

     The counselor parts her lips immediately, as if to say something in disagreement before she registers the actual meaning of Joan's words and her eyes widen in understanding. Joan assures herself that there is no apprehension in them.

     "Do you think you are capable of hurting him?"

     Joan nods and mutters, "Unfortunately. He isn't strong. He is smart. And when he fights, he almost always wins because the criminal populace of London is quite thick when compared to his intellect. He uses strategy, speed and agility." Her lips have curved into an amazed grin. But it fades almost instantly.

     "Soldiers are taught to kill. On an adrenaline rush _—_ the kind he usually incites," she adds with an amused tilt of her head, " _—_ I am capable of putting down men much larger than Sherlock. It has become natural to me." She presses her lips together tightly.

     "Joan, do you  _honestly_ believe that you'll be able to hurt him?" Thompson asks, leaning forward with her hands clasped in her lap.

     "In a fit of rage, yes," Joan says. "Who knows what I might do? Yes, his height is an advantage but it's hardly anything against brute strength."

     They stay quiet for a while as Thompson considers Joan's words.

     "There's something else, yes?" Joan blinks in surprise at the question. She bites her lip and rubs her forehead. Then, she sighs and nods slowly.

     "I have a feeling that even if I lost it, he...might not fight back." Thompson raises her eyebrows and nods in acknowledgment. But then Joan has the feeling that she is waiting for something, which is confirmed when she simply asks, "And?"

     “I don't like arguing.”

     Joan hates admitting it. Perhaps Sherlock’s influencing her but she believes that after her experience in the army, she should be able to control her emotions, exhibit a calm exterior in the face of threatening panic.

     “It’s too—it’s too much,” she exhales heavily.

     Once again, Thompson seems to read into the words she speaks.

     “I see.”

     Joan wants to explain a lot of things to this woman who is trying to help her out. But she can’t.

     Her family had been unfeeling. They weren't affectionate; they weren't understanding. They never spoke about feelings and problems. In fact, they didn't ever have a talk about anything at all. Even when they did have a problem, they would scream across rooms instead of having discussions like every other family. Like a normal family.

     It would lead to fights and fights would culminate in a search for the first-aid box. Sometimes, it would lead to a trip to A&E.

     Joan was a quick-learner. Her mother taught her how to be too sensitive and her father taught her rage. So she took both, learning to stay quiet during one of their usual arguments until time came to either break a fight or defend herself.

     And from it all, Joan learnt how to heal in the end. Unfortunately, Harry never did.

     Joan took to crying silently in dark corners like her mother, but Harry? Harry learnt to drown her sorrow like her father.

     When Joan came across Sherlock, she saw a part of herself within him. She could relate, on some level, how easy it was to survive if nothing bothered you. But that wasn't how she had been brought up. She had been taught to feel extremes. And so she did.

     But Sherlock kept bringing it all back. With his caustic words reminiscent of what her parents had to say about her. With those disdainful looks that triggered a slew of nightmarish memories.

     In front of Sherlock, it was easier—preferable even—to let the rage fuelled by adrenaline flood her veins than to fall apart.

     So she retreated, left and stayed away until she carefully, painstakingly locked away everything Sherlock unearthed with such skill during every confrontation, returning only when she had it under strict control.

     Because when Sherlock says things like that, she _wants to inflict pain._ She wants him to feel exactly the way she does. And she was never as good with words as her mother, only deft when it became physical.

     And she'll be damned if she lays a hand on him.

     “I won’t run,” Joan assures when it looks like Thompson is about to say something more.

     All she has ever known was an unspoken goodbye and the deafening bang of the front door in the silence of the night.

     But, for Sherlock, she wants to learn how to stay.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> I may have inadvertently projected my own reasons for being the way I am in the story of how Joan came to be who she is. That is also why I took to Sherlock's character so instantly. Apart from Benedict's obvious charm and brilliant acting, what made me love Sherlock was how much I could relate to him. I believe all of us Sherlockians can, to some extent.


End file.
